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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509953">Room With a View</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady'>Talkin_to_a_Lady</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Flirting, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2019-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2019-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:01:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your job as security for Mayor Lemieux's Garden Party proves to be more enjoyable than you first anticipated, when a tall, handsome stranger catches your eye.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Room With a View</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>These types of gatherings always bored you; full of silly girls fighting over suitors, or bloated, pompous men drunk on free drink and their own self-importance. Since being hired by Monsieur Lemieux you didn’t have much choice but to put up with the jobs you were tasked with and watching for any suspicious characters when Angelo Bronte was in attendance seemed laughably ironic.<br/>You stand by the fountain and scan the ruddy faces of the upstarts, some which you have already had to chastise for their familiarity once. <em>‘No one is dumb enough to cause a problem at this <strong>library</strong> of a party.</em>’ You mutter to yourself, angry you could have been in town, drinking and playing poker. You fold your arms uncomfortably across your corseted body, almost able to rest your chin on your chest, as the dress you wear seems designed to suffocate the wearer by forcing their breasts up their nose. You miss your riding pants and alligator-skin chaps. Having a gun on a thigh brace, under swathes of slippery fabric was not an ideal location in a sudden fight. You look up towards the veranda to see four men deep in discussion as they survey their surroundings. The two older men seemed comfortable; excitedly chatting and holding the attention of the others; there was a man taller than his friends; handsome but rough around the edges as he sucked on a thick cigar, his face focused and a seriousness clamped across his lips. With them, squirmed a man so far out of place he looked like he shouldn’t exist anywhere, and the creature makes you snigger when you see he is hideously forced into a suit two sizes too small, as you watch the men disperse. From where you stand, you can see a clear pattern of the their movements; so obviously trying to disassociate from each other, fanning out across the party. You deftly step through the crowds, trying to dart your eyes across each of them.<br/>You spend so much time trying to keep your eyes in four different directions that you miss a drunkard arguing with Mayor Lemieux and Guest of Honour Evelyn Mille, ‘But <em>THIS</em> <em>man here, loooooves</em> the darkies!’ You hear behind you. You turn to see the tallest of the four suspects roughly manhandle the obscene buffoon away from the party, and feel a stern look shoot at you from Lemieux, <em>what do I even pay you for</em>? He mouths.<br/>You hate the fellow; a coward and incessant ‘yes man’. You push the scowl away from your face and walk off to grab some Champagne, taking a few minutes to watch the beginning of the fireworks above.<br/>In order to not have to endure the weakest of reprimands from your boss, you turn and take up your patrol of the house, slowly making your way to the Kitchen first, stealing a few fresh strawberries with a wink at the chef, before moving towards the living rooms downstairs. With a bored sigh you make your way up the stairs, grabbing your skirts so as not to catch them under your feet, ‘A <em>real fine idea</em>, makin’ me dress like a guest, Lemieux.’ You huff.<br/>As you round the corner on the staircase, you notice the Mayor’s office door is ajar. You slow your steps, and creep forward on the last few. You see the tall fellow from earlier standing, his back to you, muttering something. You lightly walk up to the doorway undetected, and lean your shoulder against it, amusedly sipping your Champagne, taking a moment to enjoy what you see. Up close, the man was not only tall, but broad; his shoulders seemed to stretch on for eternity, and his fitted suit generously showed his frame taper to his sturdy legs. He was slightly hunched forward, reading something intently, his muscular shoulders attempting to break the seams of his jacket This was not a society man you smirk with a tingle before deciding enough was enough and acknowledging your presence to the mountain before you, ‘You don’t have the <em>bearin'</em> of a fella that should be here,’ you state softly as the man freezes in place, ‘And you certainly don’t wanna be the man that’s discovered in a Mayor’s private quarters by the likes of me.’ <br/>The man shifts to place something in his jacket and turns slowly. <em>My God</em>, you think as you feel a twitch between your legs, <em>where has this one been hidin’?<br/><br/></em></p><p>Shit, Arthur thought. He knew those glasses of champagne would make him sloppy. He pockets the letter and squares himself up, trying to be the very example of class Dutch had failed to teach him all these years. He falters as he sees you; slinked against the door frame, a playful, knowing grin slicked across your face, and that dress, <em>that dress!</em> You completely disable him as you stay perfectly still, save for your arm as it slowly lifts your drink to your plump, dark rouged lips ‘Err… Um, I must’ve took a wrong turn.’<br/>‘In <em>life?</em>’ you tease, ‘because you and your three friends don’t seem to <em>fit the aesthetic</em> this eveinin’.’</p><p>Arthur’s throat is dry as he finds himself staring unblinking at you as you step through the door and close it behind you with a swing of your hips. He gulps, he can feel beads of sweat start to seep from his temples.</p><p>You slowly saunter towards him, his blue-green eyes wide and glistening like glass, his lips parted as he tries to steady his breath, ‘Now, the two older fellas with you, I can see how they’d be able to <em>ingratiate </em>themselves with these clowns, and you?’ you stop not far from him, lean into your hip, and take your time to look at his figure, ‘you are most definitely… <em>passable</em>.’ You flick your eyes up to his and twitch a mischievous grin through parted lips, ‘but your <em>strange monkey friend</em>, in a tuxedo obviously made for a child? He kinda let y’all down on the <em>inconspicuous front</em>.’</p><p>Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at your description, but it was more out of nervousness than anything that he did. He had clean forgotten about the extremely confidential letter in is jacket pocket; his gaze fixed on you. He rubs the back of his neck and glances a sideways look down your body; your breasts locked together, softly rising and falling with each gentle breath, cinched to within an inch of your life in soft, flowing black satin with the merest hint of gold lace shimmering across your bodice.</p><p>You know your affect on shy men, but you hadn’t figured this statue in front of you to be one, you raise an eyebrow and fold an arm across yourself, softly nudging your breasts tighter together, you see the glisten of sweat peek through the dark, long stubble on his top lip, as you rest your drinking arm on your waist, ‘So, <em>why are you here</em>?’ you purr.</p><p>Arthur was disarmed. He thought alcohol was meant to steel one’s resolve, not completely abandon it. <em>Why was he here?</em> He has no idea. Right now, he was here because some enchantress was standing in a shut room with him, in a dress that stopped him from breathing, ‘Uuuurh… Mister… Uhm… Misterrrr… <strong><em>Bronte</em></strong>! invited us as his guests.’</p><p>You relax a little and roll your eyes, ‘Ah! That makes a little sense now,’ you swish up to him closely, ‘Angelo Bronte so does love to show off to his newly employed… <em>muscle</em>,’ you give your lower lip the swiftest of bites, as you notice the greying on his white button down as sweat starts to bleed through from his chest.</p><p>Arthur pushes his top lip into the bottom one to remove the sweat from it. Everything about you was designed to make his life nothing but trouble; from your manner, to your outfit, to the heady sweet perfume you were wearing. The effort to keep collected and control the situation was exhausting. He runs a hand through his thick, dark-blonde hair and finds it saturated at its roots, ‘So, <em>ahem</em>, how come you find yourself here?’</p><p>‘I know Monsieur Lemieux,’ you say in a perfect French accent</p><p>Arthur’s breath catches as your already velvet voice strings out the Mayor’s name with that European lilt. He clears his throat in a feeble attempt to cover his arousal, and nods.</p><p>‘I was hired about a year ago to help him with some… <em>private business</em>,’ you continue, ‘And I’ve been on his payroll ever since.’</p><p>A light flicks on in Arthur’s mind; <em>of course</em>! <em>That’s </em>why a woman like you is freely roaming the house, looking like that and causing men to lose their minds! That’s why you are so openly forward with him. As uncomfortable as all women made him feel, prostitutes were less intimidating, he understood their job was to make him part with his cash. He relaxed, ‘Oh! I didn’t – I didn’t think the Mayor would be so… <em>open</em> to invitin’ you to such a public event, what with your-errr <em>employment relationship.</em>’</p><p>‘I kill people, <em>Sir</em>!’ you state as you grab your skirt and hitch it up, exposing your right thigh and the gun that slept there, ‘And I don’t think that’s what <em>you</em> were implyin’.’ You grin into your drink as the soft cotton petticoats and satin fabric drop back in place as you see the man’s eyes fire downwards with the sharpest intake of breath through his teeth.</p><p>Arthur gawks at the long-barrelled .38 Smith Wesson revolver lying nestled high against your thigh, the pang of envy at its chance to caress that skin gut-punches him as he realises there’s no bloomers in its way. He’s mortified by his assumption, ‘I’m -I’m so sorry, Miss! I just thought-‘</p><p>‘Honestly! A fella sees you tightly laced up, in your <em>finest satin</em> and he just assumes you’re tryin’ ta get a transaction!’ You tease him and feel an aching pulse below as you watch him squirm. ‘<em>I’m workin’</em>. And I took my patrol.’ You notice the man eye you cautiously, you step up to him; your bodies less than an inch apart. You feel the heat from him pour over you like a warm day as you look up with a smirk into his wide eyes, his breath is hot, ‘And my interest is always piqued when I see a handsome fella with his strong hands in <em>small, private, places</em>, when he ain’t been given permission to put them there.’ You feel the lightest touch brush against your skirt just below your waist. You grin, ‘So, you got everythin’ you want from in here?’ The man’s breathing is hard and shaky, he looks as if he’s about to say something when you hear footsteps not far off. You shush him and place your hand on his torso as you turn to look at the door.</p><p>Arthur barely moves as your palm flattens against his chest. He shuts his eyes to try and regain some composure, his mind is swimming from your strawberry champagne breath and the floral scent of your perfume swirling through his nostrils. His heart is pounding, and he knows you’ll feel it. His shirt sticks to him with sweat, lining every contour of his chest like – for a brief second - he pictured your lips doing. <em>C’mon, man</em>, he growls to himself, <em>have some goddamn self-respect, calm the hell down, this woman’s gonna at best arrest you</em>. He bites his lip as he feels your hand drift absent-mindedly down to his abdomen, his body stutters away in fear of you brushing any lower as you break away and move towards the door. With your back turned, he takes the opportunity to wipe his hands over his face and up into his hair, pushing it backwards. A rush of cool air hits him as he opens his eyes, watching you peer out into the corridor, before putting down your glass and curving your way out of the room, closing the door tight behind you. He steps quietly to listen at the door.</p><p>Your move to the corridor couldn’t come soon enough as one of Lemieux’s Security detail turns up the stairs, ‘Collins,’ you greet him with a relaxed smile<br/>‘What are you doin’ up here?’ he asks<br/>‘<em>My. Job</em>. Seems I’m the only one tonight botherin’, not lookin’ up at some pretty lights in the sky.’ No, you had something far prettier to look at. Collins nods sheepishly, as you continue, ‘Anyway, why don’t you get back to checkin’ the guests? There don’t need to be two of us skulkin’ around. I’ve already check up here, it’s clear.’ Collins nods and you see his eyes flick briefly down towards your cleavage before he begins to walk away, ‘Oh! And Collins?’ You call back to him loudly, ‘You look at my chest again and it will be the last thing you <em>ever see</em>.’ You hold tightly onto the door until he has scurried out of sight. You take a deep breath before stepping back into to Mayor’s office; bumping into the man inside as he backs up from his eavesdropping. His body is as strong as oak, you feel a coolness on your cheek from where your face hit his chest, moistened from the excitement you’ve obviously caused in him. He coughs a small, awkward laugh and apologises as he holds you with his rough hands, lightly kneading your upper arms with his thumbs before realising and bashfully breaking away. ‘You have to go.’ The man looks at you surprised, ‘What? You think I’d turn you in? The only reason I take this job is because the money’s good and the wine’s free. Perks like you don’t <em>come </em>very often.’</p><p>Arthur obediently follows you out of the room, making sure the door is closed behind him. He’s relieved to be away from there, despite its size the two of you used very little of its space, and he could feel a tide line crystallising on his neck in the airiness of the mansion. He sighed, thankful that for whatever reason you had chosen not raise the alarm. The suit was making him uncomfortable; it was drenched in sweat. As you check around the corner of the staircase, he adjusts the tightness in his pants and twinges at the dampness he feels there. He sees you catch him and smile, the corner of your bottom lip held down by your teeth. He can’t handle this; he has to get back to the guys, though part of him hopes you plan to interrogate him, <em>c‘mon, Morgan, snap out of it</em>. He watches you beckon him forward with dancing fingers, and sashay down the stairs, his grip on the banister is tight and unyielding as he watches your hand playfully grasp the wooden railing as you trail your hand down it; twisting and smoothing it with your palm, allowing the friction to stick it briefly as your body sways hypnotically down the stairs. He reminds his legs how to walk and heavily makes his way behind you. He grabs your wrist just before you both part ways, ‘<em>Thank you</em>.’ He whispers in a low gravelled drawl.</p><p>You turn and look up at him over your shoulder and you feel his fingers flex as he inhales; he is even more dominating now that he stands two steps above you. The grip on your wrist is strong and a flash of what else he could do drags steam from your core. You smile and walk back up towards him, ‘<em>Oh, this ain’t nothin’ to thank me for yet, darlin’</em>,’ you say, a deep, inviting caramel in your voice, ‘<em>I’m sure I can let you thank me properly another time</em>.’ You brush his flushed cheek with your thumb, and swish your hips down the final steps, back to your post.</p><p>Arthur gives himself a ragged exhale and stumbles down the last four steps, turning the opposite way to you, to reconvene with his friends.<br/>‘Where the hell have you been, Arthur?’ Dutch snaps and stops when he looks at him, ‘Are- are you alright? Has something happened?’<br/>‘In a manner of speakin’, Dutch, I’d say quite a lot.’ He manages breathlessly before taking his friends Champagne and chugging it in one gulp.</p>
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